


Home Is Where the Carafe Is

by asimplewalk



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gender Identity, M/M, Multi, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:07:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asimplewalk/pseuds/asimplewalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yeah, Hot Shots is a little wild from time to time. But it’s a second (or first) home to a lot of people. It started with the premise of bringing bright, warm, lighthearted happiness to a cruddy part of town. But the shop is  more than that. It iss the foundation of good for everything in those few radiating blocks, starting and ending in good coffee, fresh baked goods, and honest, caring people."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is Where the Carafe Is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bouzingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouzingo/gifts).



> Beta'd by [Kelsey](http://www.clawdee.tumblr.com/) and [Kole](http://www.gotmogared.tumblr.com/), bless their little hearts for tolerating me. Anything left is my fault an feel free to tell me about it.
> 
> All recognizable characters and setting are owned by the respective rightsholders, I am merely a fanwriter that is rubbing my filthy queer mitts all over them.

Clint isn’t sure when he ended up collecting a motley crew of rowdy high school and college age students in a little flock, how he’s managed to finally score with the love of his life, how he managed to make friends with the table-flipping yarn store/yoga studio owner, the mechanic and his pretty realtor girlfriend, or the grumpy as hell old veteran running the gift shop next door. He’s definitely not sure how, exactly, there is a safe bubble from that rabble-rousing gang that rules the area.

But at the end of the day, he’s definitely glad that he’d decided to open up the shop with Phil, because he’ll be damned if it’s not the best thing in the world. Even if he had to wake up at four in the morning, back at the beginning, to help the man make all those doughnuts and cookies.

He hears the soft clink of one of the extra fucking huge ceramic mugs that one of his little Hatchlings (Fury, he deeply believes, was the first to call the kids that) had made being set on the table next to him. It smells like the last of the decaf Arabian with two huge dollops of the whipped cream that Natasha helps make throughout the day. “It’s eleven at night, boss. I think you can stop trying to ward people off with a banjo, since it’s pretty well known we closed an hour ago.”

Clint, at this, furiously plays a few bars of a Mumford and Sons song before sighing. “Paddle faster, Angie.” He takes the mug and sips from it. “Oh man, you girls are a godsend. Steve still trying to finish up his Renaissance study?” Well, if they’re his hatchlings, he needs to momma-bird them, right?

“Mmh- I think so. He’s wilting though, so I texted Peggy and Bucky to swing by and get us soon.” She smiles and, checking over his shoulder, Clint could see she was right.

“I’m going to turn my back. I don’t care what you do, but do something to perk him up so his little spine doesn’t snap. Phil might have an aneurysm if he found out that his favorite kid died in our shop from art fatigue. And bring home whatever’s in the case, please.” He turns back, adjusts the kapo on the neck of the instrument, and begins earnestly playing along to AC/DC pouring out of a brightly lit bay door of the mechanic shop down the block a little ways. From the clanging, it sounded like Tony was playing a solo on the frame of the truck he was working on.

-

Angie had snuck up behind him and whispered a burning, filthy promise against the skin behind his jaw, then sauntered over to box up the remains of the display, including the week old cookie cake that he and Buck have been drooling over.

He shifts and whines a little when he remembers that it’s about that time of the month. Everything is sore, he hates everything, and kinda wants to take a spoon and scoop the offending organs out of his body. But knowing that Angie’ll split the cookie cake and make him cocoa all week and that they can laze on the couch all mushed close under heating pads because he actually got his oil painting done on time is a relief.

And the sex coming beforehand is going to be fantastic. Because when she promises things like that, it’s because she’s feeling as flustered and feisty as he is. 

He packs his work up, carefully carries the painting to set it up on the easel in the office, and then goes to fetch the mug that Angie had brought to her boss. The man is weird as hell, and he and his partner (in business and pleasure) have been a godsend. They have a policy - tips are split 80/20, for the girls as extra income to the living wage they already make and to be saved for Steve and Peggy as a base fund for surgeries they’re aiming for in the future, respectively. Which, damn. That was such a huge thing.

“Are you sure you’re alright with me keeping the painting in the office?” Steve fiddles with Clint’s mug - one of the ones Sam made - when he picks it up. 

“Sure. Phil said he’d shift it up to our office upstairs for you in the morning, and I am gonna go up the other way so I can’t risk screwing it up. You can come get it, or we can bring it to you whenever.” Clint’s not playing loudly anymore, but the soft twang of the instrument is still as grating as ever. 

Steve reaches up and turns down his own hearing aid, and then over to gently tap Clint’s shoulder before turning up the closest of the other man’s two. “Have a good night. And again, thank you so, so much. For all that, and, apparently the cookie cake.”

Clint waves him off and continues to pick out along to Stark’s head-banger metal, so Steve brings the mug in, grabs his own along the way, and drops them off in the edge of the sink where Natasha is washing up. The two girls are singing a song from Chicago while they tidy up after the typical Thursday shift. “Anything I can do, dolls?”

“HE HAD IT COMING!” Both girls whip to look at each other, practically striking a pose, so he takes it as a no. He can work on that drawing of Peggy and Buck in those frilly panties while he waits for his other two loves to get there to pick he and Angie up.

-

Natasha locks up after Peggy and Bucky get there and shuffle Steve and Angie off to the apartment the four of them share. It’s a fair shot further from their various campuses than Hot Shots is, so she’s gotten used to Steve or Angie or anyone else’s projects, posters, trifolds, whatever, ending up in the office.

She considers trying to crash out over in the hammock in the back of Bruce’s shop, but Sam’s probably already in it. Bruce is a light sleeper, too, and likely already out - waking him up by tripping over one of his stray cats (who was fine after the last time, thank you very much) and bumping into a precariously stacked pyramid of yarn again - well, they all remember what happened last time and it was not worth it. So she goes into the office once she’s finished with the dishes and double checking Angie’s immaculate cleaning job with the various carafes, steamers, blenders, and the espresso machine. 

She can hear the soft sound of the last round of repeating updates of the 11 o’clock news from the back of the apartment when she goes up, so she nabs one of the blankets from the huge basket by the door and a pillow from the pile next to the basket, the couch in the office downstairs is calling her name. For as long as she’s been here, Clint and Phil have always afforded her peace of mind, safety, and a warm spot to lay her head at night. 

She sets her phone down on the little side table after turning Blue October on to play quietly. She rechecks the front of the store again, makes sure everything is locked up tight, and makes sure the patio lights are turned out when she comes back into the office with the tip jars.

Lucky, Clint’s one-eyed, pizza thieving dog, is curled on the cushion farthest from her pillow, ready to have her feet tucked under him and be the second best sleeping partner she could have. “Alright. You know where your parents put those coin rollers? They were on the desk where I keep leaving them this morning.” She gets a whine in return. “Why do they leave you down here with me? Is it because they are putting things in one or the other’s butts?”

Natasha pops one of the cold paper cups of chai she had hoarded throughout the day into the office microwave while she looks around. She’s not sure why the bag of coin sleeves is under the desk, but shrugs it off. Clint is a disaster. She has to bite the knuckle of her thumb to stifle the laugh at the sticky note in his chicken scratch saying “Pants, wear them,” that she finds in the process.

She, her tea, and the rollers set up so she can sort out, tidy up, and then actually count up the tips. The requisite fifth of it gets shut away in the lock box in the safe (Phil will take that to the bank for the savings account that he started for her two friends, in support, as usual). The rest she settles up in envelopes for her and the other that she’ll take over to Angie in the morning (they both have tomorrow off, because Kate needs the full shift and they aren’t about to argue). She might even stay, since Steve and Angie? Left unchecked while Bucky and Peggy have classes on Angie’s one day off? Pandemonium.

-

Yeah, Hot Shots is a little wild from time to time. But it’s a second (or first) home to a lot of people. It started with the premise of bringing bright, warm, lighthearted happiness to a cruddy part of town. But the shop is more than that. It iss the foundation of good for everything in those few radiating blocks, starting and ending in good coffee, fresh baked goods, and honest, caring people.

**Author's Note:**

> This exchange has been a huge help with my view, perception, and personal identity issues throughout the summer, and tinkering in the work has been reaffirming and soothing. Thanks to the mods and the other participants. Y'all are wonderful, and deserve good things.
> 
> I am already working on companion pieces to continue this universe. :D
> 
> I take prompts and love talking to others, feel free to come and howl at me on [](http://www.crownsandashes.tumblr.com>tumblr</a>!)


End file.
